THE  SHARING 


BY 
AGNES   LEE 


BOSTON  :  SHERMAN,  FRENCH 
^COMPANY:  MDCCCCXIV 


Copyright,  1914 
SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &  COMPANY 


For  kind  permission  to  reprint  The 
Sharing,  The  Silent  House  and  two  lyrics 
thanks  are  due  to  The  Editor  of  Poetry, 
and  for  other  poems  in  this  collection  to 
the  Editors  of  The  North  American  Re- 
view, Harper's  Weekly,  The  Bookman, 
The  Bellman,  The  Poetry  Journal,  The 
Youth's  Companion,  The  Christian  Reg- 
ister, Lippincott's,  The  Independent  and 
The  Lyric  Year. 

A  word  as  to  The  Silent  House.  I  was 
sitting  with  my  friend,  J.  I.,  before  her 
hospitable  fire.  As  the  rain  beat  against 
the  windows,  she  told  me  in  a  few  words  a 
day-dream  she  often  had,  of  a  soul  seeking 
its  lover  through  the  storm.  I  urged  her 
to  write  it  into  a  story.  But  she  never 
did,  and  when  I  referred  to  the  subject 
afterward  she  would  say :  "  No  —  you 
must  make  a  poem  of  it  sometime." 
About  three  years  after  her  own  gleaming 
soul  had  taken  its  way  through  the  un- 
known, thoughts  and  lines  began  to  take 
form  in  my  mind,  and  The  Silent  House 
came  to  me.  A.  L. 


343558 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  SHARING 1 

THE  SILENT  HOUSE 9 

A  STATUE  IN  A  GARDEN 21 

A  ROMAN  DOLL 22 

SONG  OF  A  QUEEN  OF  LOMBARDY     .  24 

THE  LAST  HOME 25 

THE  LAKE  WILL  SING 26 

THE  DRUDGE 27 

A  CRY  TO  LANDECK 28 

NUMBERS 29 

THE  PROTEST 31 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  LAKE     .      .      .      .  33 

ON  THE  JAIL  STEPS 36 

HER  GOING 37 

A  PEASANT  OF  ASSISI 40 

FOREST  FIRES 42 

THE  OLD  IROQUOIS 44 

DICKENS 45 

WAGNER 48 

TO  A  POET 49 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  A  CHILD       ....  50 

CHRISTMAS  VOICES 53 

CLOUD  AND  FLOWER 54 

THE    SECRET 55 

TO  A  GARRULOUS  FRIEND   ....  56 

A  SONG  OF  TIME 57 

TWO  HOUSES 58 

THE  LOST  RITUAL 59 

LOVE'S  VOICE  60 


PAGE 

RADIUM 61 

RESEARCH 62 

VICTORY 63 

A    SONG  64 


THE  SHARING 


THE  SHARING 

Martin  works  in  the  garden.  Stephana 
comes  from  the  cottage  door.  Upon  a  bench 
under  the  eaves  are  ranged  three  very  small 
wooden  cages,  of  the  sort  used  by  bird-sellers 
•for  their  stock  in  trade. 

STEPHANA 

AT  last  a  holiday !     And  my  heart  sings ! 
Come,  father,  take  your  leisure. 
I  brought  the  birds  outside  to  preen  their  wings 
And  have  a  bit  of  pleasure. 

MARTIN 
Twelve  sold  within  a  week.     And  that  is  well. 

STEPHANA 
And  these? 

MARTIN  [Aside] 

She  never  tires 

Of   birds    and   birds!     Whoever  may   foretell? 
[Aloud] 

STEPHANA 

0,  O,  the  silly  buyers  !  — 

1,  keeping  back  my  dearest  three,  and  you 
Praising,  persuading,  driving 

Your  bargain,  all  as  if  you  never  knew, 
Yet  in  your  soul  conniving.      [They  laugh] 


No  more  shall  come  to  buy.     And  that's  my 
dream. 


MARTIN 
The  sun  is  on  the  hedges. 

STEPHANA 
How  all  the  little  upward  petals  gleam  ! 

MARTIN 

Look,  there,  along  the  ledges, 
Comes  wandering  a  worn  and  meager  man  ! 
He's  in  the  road.  .   .   .  He's  turning! 

STEPHANA 

Perhaps  a  beggar  from  the  caravan 
That  kept  me  from  my  churning. 
We  cannot  heed  so  many  passing  here. 

MARTIN 

Now  see  him  bend  and  falter 
And  shuffle  in  his  gait.   .   .   .  Yet,  coming  near, 
He  seems  to  loom  and  alter.   .   .   . 
He  is  even  young. 

STEPHANA 

No,  no,  his  hair  is  gray  .   .   . 
He's  reached  the  stile.   .   .   .  He's  over. 

[2] 


MARTIN 

He  has  a  word  for  us.     He  walks  our  way 

Across  the  field  of  clover.   .  .   . 

Where  do  you  come  from,  melancholy  guest? 

THE  STRANGER 

Out  of  the  dark  of  sorrow. 

They  said  it  was  the  east,  it  was  the  west, 

And  there  was  no  to-morrow. 

STEPHANA 
The  birds  are  fluttering. 

THE  STRANGER 

Birds?     Birds? 

STEPHANA 

O  look, 

The  yellow,  bright  canaries  I 
They  tide  the  dailiness  of  this  dull  nook. 
They  are  my  gentle  fairies. 
For  father  teaches  at  the  village  school, 
And  I'm  forlorn  and  lonely 
Except  for  these,  my  heartlings  beautiful. 
All  would  be  happy  .   .   .  only  .   .   . 
When  they  begin  to  love  me,  off  they  go. 

THE  STRANGER 
The  price,  the  price,  forever. 

[3] 


MARTIN 

For  all,  the  price  is  all  the  hand  may  show. 
We  may  be  fools,  or  clever, — 
It  is  the  earthly  cry  of  everyone. 

THE  STRANGER 

Poor  birds!     No  songs  embolden 

Their  little  breasts.     Their  eyes  forget  the  sun. 

STEPHANA 
But  they  are  soft  and  golden. 

THE  STRANGER 
The  narrow  cells! 

STEPHANA 

Yes,  these  are  narrow  homes. 
But  many  are  no  wider. 

THE  STRANGER 

His  houses  He  has  made  with  azure  domes, 
The  bountiful  Provider. 

STEPHANA 

Dread  of  my  heart,  the  sign  is  on  his  brow ! 
He'll  buy  them.     He  uncreases 
The  twisted  kerchief.     On  the  settle  now 
Fall  out  his  silver  pieces ! 

[4] 


MARTIN   [Whispering  to  Stephana} 
You'll  have  a  bit  of  satin  home  to  try. 

THE  STRANGER 
The  birds  are  bonny,  bonny. 
Take  all  I  have  —  give  me  what  it  will  buy. 

STEPHANA 
Father  f     Forego  the  money  ! 

MARTIN 

Now  leave  me  to  my  bargain.     You  shall  see  — 
You'll  have  a  rosy  fillet. 

STEPHANA 
Father! 

MARTIN 

Good  stranger,  they  are  yours,  all  three. 

THE  STRANGER 
Mine.     Nothing  shall  outwill  it. 

STEPHANA 
But  O,  whatever  is  your  good  of  them? 

THE  STRANGER 

Why,  look  you,  Blossom-Lady :  — 

Come,  Yellow-Throat,  come,  Puff,  and  Speckle- 
Gem, 

Come,  leave  your  dwellings  shady! 

[5] 


Hop,  One, 
Forth  of  your  door. 
Fearing  no  more, 
Wing  to  the  sun! 

Hop,  Two! 
Sidle  not  so. 
Hasten  to  know. 
Summer  is  new. 

Three,  up! 
Scatter  the  dim. 
Fly  to  the  rim 
Of  the  sun's  cup! 

They  are  out  and  away 

Over  hedge,  over  hay. 

Over  hill,  over  stone 

They  have  flashed,  they  have  -flown. 

They  have  winged,  they  have  won! 

There  is  gold  in  the  sun! 


MARTIN 
Stop  grieving,  girl.     Your  tears  are  no  amends. 

STEPHANA 
Gone,  gone,  my  sweet  companions ! 

[6] 


THE  STRANGER 
Freedom   is    worth   the   price   of    tears.     Now, 

friends, 
I'm  off  to  heights  and  canyons. 

STEPHANA 

Ah,  they  will  die  out  yonder,  far  and  high, 
The  sport  of  wind  and  shadow! 

THE  STRANGER 
And  that  is  where  God's  creatures  ought  to  die. 

MARTIN 

Plague  on  his  fine  bravado ! 
And  yet  the  birds  were  his.     He  paid  the  score. 
Let  the  foolhardy  ranger 
Go  follow  them. 

STEPHANA 

Go !     Go !  —  but  not  before 
I  have  your  "why,  dark  stranger! 

THE  STRANGER 

I  was  their  fellow,  in  my  cage  apart, 
Born  of  a  world's  blaspheming. 
I  served  my  term,  without  a  dream  at  heart, 
Save  this  one  song  of  dreaming: 

//  ever  you  shall  be,  man, 
Where  the  leaves  blow, 
Make,  as  you  go, 
Fettered  wings  free,  man! 
[7] 


My  cage  was  opened,  and  I  left  the  blight 
The  weary  darkness  leavens. 
But,  free  at  last,  I  could  not  face  the  light, 
Till  I  could  share  the  heavens. 


[8] 


THE  SILENT  HOUSE 

A  late  afternoon  in  autumn.  The  cottage 
living-room  of  a  scholar.  The  windows  at  the 
back  look  through  a  wood  to  the  waters  of  a 
wide  lake.  David  is  sitting  before  the  fire,  his 
head  bowed  low  over  a  crumpled  letter  in  his 
hand. 

DAVID 

How  may  a  letter  bring  such  darkness  down ! 

[He  reads  from  the  letter'] 
Corinna  dallies  with  your  faith  too  long, 
And  my  word  is  the  word  of  all  the  town-' 
She  has  no  soul,  no  soul,  /or  all  her  song! 
Why  is  it  men  like  you  would  always  mate 
With  little  hearts  that  never  comprehend? 
She  may  not  take  your  measure  nor  your 

weight, 

Yet  holds  you  hers  to  harrow  to  the  end. 
You  ask  me  if  I  see  her.     Many  a  night 
For  many  an  hour  I've  seen  her.     David,  man, 
I  wish  that  you  had  watched  her  with  my  sight. 
She  led  the  dance,  she  led  the  caravan 
Of  arbiters  who  came  to  hear  her  sing. 
Wine  to  her  head  was  their  too  eager  praise. 
She  circled  round  within  a  fiery  ring, 
And  flashed  the  brighter  out  of  every  blaze. 
But  since  the  last  bethronged  levee,  they  say, 

[9] 


Her  doors  have  opened  unto  none.     A  chill, 
Some  whisper,  some,  that  she  has  gone  away. 

[With  an  impatient  gesture  he  throws  the  let- 
ter into  the  -fire,  and  watches  it  burn.  A  long 
pause.  He  looks  up,  musing.} 

And  empty  is  the  house  upon  the  hill. 
O,  it  was  there  she  found  her  quiet  best ! 
Why  will  she  never  know  it,  and  return 
To  one  who  calls  her  from  her  far  unrest 
To  look  on  silver  lake,  on  flower  and  fern? 

[Dreamily] 

O,  for  her  nearness  at  the  sunset's  fire, 
To  walk  with  her  beneath  perpetual  trees, 
To  share  with  her  a  stillness,  to  inspire 
The  ardour  in  her  eyes  no  other  sees ! 

MARTHA  [Entering  with  -flowers'] 

Sir,  I  have  brought  you  flaming  bergamot 

And  early  asters   for  your  window-sill. 

And  where  I  found  them?     Now  you'll  guess  it 

not. 

I  found  them  in  the  meadow  by  the  hill, 
And  gathered  till  my  arms  could  hold  no  more. 

DAVID 
The  meadow  of  the  little  silent  house! 


[10] 


MARTHA 

The  city  lured  her  from  her  viny  door. 
But  see,  the  flowers  have  stayed. 

DAVID 

They  seem  to  drowse 
And  dream  of  one  they  lost,  a  paler-blown. 

MARTHA 

Then  up  I  went,  close  by  the  house.     The  blinds 
Are  fast  of  late,  and  all  are  intergrown 
With  weedy  havoc  tossed  by  searching  winds. 

DAVID 

How  somber  suddenly  the  sky!     A  shower 
Is  in  the  air. 

MARTHA 

I'll  light  the  lamps. 

DAVID 

Not  yet. 
Leave  me  the  beauty  of  the  twilit  hour. 

MARTHA  [At  the  window'] 

Hear  the  wind  rising !     How  the  moorings  fret ! 
More  than  a  simple  shower  is  on  its  way. 
I  would  not  be  aboard  of  yonder  ship, 
Hunted  and  hammered  in  the  angry  spray. 


0  look,  O  look,  O  see  it  turn  and  dip  I 

The  helpless  thing  heads  blindly  on  its  course. 
Now  it  goes  plunging,  half  by  water  veiled. 
Now  it  goes  rearing,  like  a  frightened  horse. 

DAVID 

What   craft   is   this,   and   from   what   harbour 
sailed  ? 

1  can  see  figures. 

MARTHA 

Can  you  see  a  light? 

DAVID 

Now  I  see  nothing.     All  is  overcast. 

Ah,  many  a  ship  must  plow  the  wave  to-night ! 

MARTHA 
God  help  the  ships,  the  ships !     No  light.     No 

mast. 

A  dim  gray  doom  has  swallowed  up  all  space. 
God  save  the  ships,  the  ships,  from  the  gale's 

mark! 

[She  goes  out] 

DAVID 

Corinna !     Now  I  may  recall  her  face. 
It  is  my  light  to  think  by  in  the  dark.   .   .   . 
Yes,  all  my  years  of  study,  all  the  will 
Tenacious  to  achieve,  the  tempered  strife, 

[12] 


The  victories  attained  through  patient  skill, 

Lie  at  the  door  of  one  dear  human  life. 

And   yet  .  .  .  the   letter  ...  O,   to   break   a 

spell 

Wherein  the  stars  are  crumbling  unto  dust ! 
There  never  was  a  hope,  I  know  it  well, 
And  struggle  on,  and  love  because  I  must.   .  .  . 

Never  a  hope?     Shall  ever  any  scheme, 
Her  silence,  or  alarm  of  written  word, 
Or  voiced  asseveration,  shake  my  dream? 
She  loves  me.     By  love's  anguish,  I  have  heard ! 
We  two  from  our  soul-towers  across  a  vale 
Are  calling  each  to  each,  alert,  aware. 
Shall  one  of  us  one  day  the  other  hail, 
And  no  reply  be  borne  upon  the  air? 
Corinna,  come  to  me,  my  power,  my  breath, 

0  come  to  me,  Beloved  and  Besought, 
Over  grief,  gladness, —  even  over  death  1 

For  I  could  greet  your  phantom,  so  it  brought 
Love's  own  reality  f  .  .  . 

[There  is  a  faint  strain  of  song  without.     He 
listens] 

A  song  of  hers 

Seems  striving,  striving,  a  faint  villanelle 
Half  smothered  by  the  gale's  mad  roisterers. 

1  heard  her  sing  it  once  in  Bracken  Dell. 


[13] 


Here  is  the  rain  against  the  window  beating 
In  heavy  drops  that  presage  wilder  storm. 
The  lake  is  lost  within  a  lurid  sheeting. 
The  house  upon  the  hill  has  changed  its  form. 
The  melancholy  pine-trees  weep  in  rocking. 
And  what's  that  clamour  at  the  outer  door? 
Martha !     O  Martha  !     Somebody  is  knocking ! 

MARTHA  [Re-ent ering] 
You  hear  the  rills  that  down  the  gutters  roar. 

DAVID 

The  door!     I'll  go  myself.     You're  deaf  to  it. 
[Hurrying  to  the  door] 
This  is  no  night  to  leave  a  man  outside. 

MARTHA  [Muttering] 

And  is  it  I  am  going  deaf  a  bit, 
And  blind  a  bit,  with  other  ill-betide! 
Well,  I  can  see  to  thread  a  needle,  still, 
And  I  can  hear  the  ticking  of  the  clock, 
And  I  can  fetch  a  basket  from  the  mill. 
But  hallow  me  if  ever  I  heard  knock ! 

[David  has  thrown  open  the  door.     He  starts 
forward,  stretching  out  his  arms] 

DAVID 

[Coming  back  into  the  room,  as  if  drawing 
someone  with  him] 

[H] 


Corinna !     You,  Corinna  !     Drenched  and  cold ! 
At  last,  at  last  I     But  how  in  all  the  rain ! 
Martha! 

[Martha  stands  motionless,  unseeing'] 

Good  Martha,  you  are  growing  old. 
Draw  fast  the  shades.     Shut  out  the  hurricane. 
Here,  take  the  dripping  cloak  out  of  the  room. 
Bring  cordial  from  the  purple  damson  pressed, 
And   light   the   lamps,   the    candles.     Fire   the 

gloom. 
Why  do  you  mutter?     Woman,  here's  a  guest. 

MARTHA 

You  opened  wide  the  door.     In  came  the  storm. 
But  there  was  not  a  step  upon  the  sill. 
All  the  black  night  let  in  no  living  form. 
I  see  no  guest.     Look  hard,  sir,  as  I  will, 
I  see  none  here  but  you  and  my  poor  self. 

DAVID 

The  room  that  was  my  mother's  room  prepare. 
Spread  out  warm  garments  on  the  broad  oak 

shelf,- 
Her  gown,  the  little  shawl  she  used  to  wear. 

[Martha,    wide-eyed,    \>ew&dered,    lights    the 
lamps  and  candles  and  goes  out,   raising  her 


[15] 


CORINNA 

The  moments  I  may  tarry  fade  and  press. 
Something  impelled  me  to  you,  some  clear  flame. 
They  said  I  had  no  soul,  O  David,  yes, 
They  said  I  had  no  soul !     And  so  I  came. 
I  have  been  singing,  singing  all  the  way, 
Singing  since  everywhere  the  darkness  grew 
And  I  grew  chill  and  followed  the  small  ray. 
Lean  close,  and  let  my  longing  rest  in  you ! 

DAVID 

Corinna,  child,  I  never  thought  to  win 
Out  of  the  silence  and  the  futile  throbbing. 
How  did  you  know  the  sorrow  I  was  in? 

CORINNA 

A  flock  of  leaves  went  sobbing,  sobbing,  sob- 
bing. 

DAVID 
The  dear  old  days,  they  have  come  back  again. 

CORINNA 
They  have  come  back  to  slip  away  forever. 

DAVID 

They  have  come  back  bearing  some  old,  old  pain 
Mixed  in  a  cup  of  joy.     Now  let  us  sever 
The  cup!     At  last  let  only  happiness 
Be  import  of  the  hour!     You  love  me? 

[16] 


CORINNA 

Dear, 
I  love  you,  love  you. 

DAVID 

Little  did  we  guess 
Love  would  come  back  like  this, —  I,  dreaming 

here, 

My  heart  a  shaken  storm, —  the  storm  without 
Shaken,  shaken, —  you,  lightning  of  two  storms. 

CORINNA 

0  David,  your  long  misery  and  doubt! 

DAVID 
They  are  the  past.     Let  go  the  shadowy  forms. 

CORINNA 
No, —  show  me  all  the  shadows. 

DAVID 

At  first,  alone, 

1  went  about  lost  in  a  haze  of  you. 

Ah,  nights  there  were  with  every  hour  a  stone, 
When    my    despair   made   nothing   great    seem 

true! 

But  you  would  enter  darkness  like  a  dove. 
I  heard  your  voice,  and  I  could  make  it  say 
The  little  words  that  bring  the  notes  I  love. 

[17] 


CORINNA 

You  felt  me  loving  you. 

DAVID 

Then  came  the  sway 

Of  other  thoughts.     How  often  we  have  read 
How  love  relumes  the  flowers  and  the  trees  I 
And  all  my  world  was  newly  garmented: 
Rewards  seemed  slight,  and  slighter  penalties. 
Daily  companionship  was  more  and  more. 
To  make  one  path  of  hope  more  viable, 
To  lift  one  load,  was  worth  the  heart's  outpour. 
And  you,  you  had  made  all  things  wonderful. 

CORINNA 
I  have  come  back  to  you. 

DAVID 

My  love,  my  own, 

My  festival  upleaping  from  an  ember! 
But,  timid  child,  how  could  you  come  alone 
Across  the  trackless  woods? 

CORINNA 

Do  you  remember?  — 
Over  the  summer  lake  one  starry,  stilly, 
Sweet   night,   when   you    and   I   were   drifting, 

dear, 

I  frighted  at  the  shadow  of  a  lily ! 
It  is  all  strange,  but  now  I  have  no  fear. 

[18] 


DAVID 

And  you,  do  you  remember?  —  After  we 
Had   pulled    the   boat   ashore,   with   some   new 

might 

I  held  you  close.     By  the  moon  I  could  see 
Your  lips  were  white  with  love.     Now  they  are 

white. 
But    O,    your    eyes    are   weary!     Sleep,    then, 

sleep. 

CORINNA 
I  must  go  over  to  the  silent  house. 

DAVID 

The  dwelling  stands  forsaken  up  the  steep, 
With  never  beast  nor  human  to  arouse. 

CORINNA 

My  house  is  waiting  for  me  on  the  hill. 
There  in  an  upper  room  the  rising  sun 
Shall  see  strange  fingers  plying,  deft  and  still, 
Drawing  the  thread  in  linen  newly  spun. 
Soon  shall  the  windows  gleam  with  lamps.     Now 

hark, 
Hark, —  heavy  wheels  are  toiling  to  the  north ! 

DAVID 
I  will  go  with  you,  child,  into  the  dark. 

[19] 


CORINNA 

Strong  arms  are  in  the  storm  to  bear  me  forth. 

DAVID 

Not  in  these  garments  dripping  as  the  trees ! 
Not  in  these  clinging  shadows ! 

CORINNA 

Ah,  good-night! 

Dear  love,  dear  love,  I  must  go  forth  in  these. 
To-morrow  you  shall  see  me  all  in  white. 


[20] 


A  STATUE  IN  A  GARDEN 

I  WAS  a  goddess  ere  the  marble  found  me. 

Wind,  wind,  delay  not, 
Waft  my  spirit  where  the  laurel  crowned  me ! 

Will  the  wind  stay  not? 

Then    tarry,    tarry,    listen,    little    swallow, — 

An  old  glory  feeds  me: 
I  lay  upon  the  bosom  of  Apollo! 

Not  a  bird  heeds  me. 

For  here  the  days  are  alien.     O,  to  waken 

Mine,  mine,  with  calling! 
But  on  my  shoulders  bare,  like  hopes  forsaken, 

The   dead  leaves   are   falling. 

The  sky  is  gray  and  full  of  unshed  weeping, 

As  dim  down  the  garden 
I  wait  and  watch  the  early  autumn  sweeping. 

The  stalks  fade  and  harden. 

The  souls  of  all  the  flowers  afar  have  rallied. 

The  trees,  gaunt,  appalling, 
Attest  the  gloom,  and  on  my  shoulders  pallid 

The  dead  leaves  are  falling. 


A  ROMAN  DOLL 

(In  a  Museum) 

How  an  image  of  paint  and  wood 

Leaped  to  her  life  with  a  love's  control, 

Struck  the  chords  of  her  motherhood, 

Passionate  little  mother-soul  i 

Fair  to  her  sight  were  the  stolid  eyes, 

Dear  to  her  toil  the  robes  empearled. 

She  crooned  it  the  ancient  lullabies. 

She  gathered  it  close  from  the  outer  world. 

They  watched  together  as  Nero's  pyres 

Fed  the  haze  of  a  hundred  fires. 

i 

She  bore  me  -fresh  on  her  -fresh  young  arm. 

See,  I  am  small, 

Only  a  doll. 

But  keeping  her  kiss  I  keep  her  charm. 

Long  and  lonely  the  toy  has  lain. 
One  by  one  into  time's  abyss 
Years  have  dropped  as  the  drops  of  rain. 
Yet  the  cycles  have  left  us  this ! 

0  red-lipped  mother,  O  mother  sweet, 
To-day  a  sister  has  heard  you  call ! 
Your  heart  is  beating  in  her  heart-beat. 

1  saw  her  weep  o'er  the  crumbling  doll. 

She  knew,  she  knew.     You  had  lived  and  smiled ! 
You  had  loved  your  dream,  little  Roman  child ! 

[22] 


She  bare  me  -fresh  on  her  fresh  young  arm. 

See,  I  am  small, 

Only  a  doll. 

But  keeping  her  kiss  I  keep  her  charm. 


[23] 


SONG  OF  A  QUEEN  OF  LOMBARDY 

Only  an  hour,  and  his  heart  was  beating. 
Now  he  laughs  in  a  ghostly  sheeting, 
Still  in  his  dream  the  sin  repeating. 

Sea,  sea, 

Quiet  me. 

Wash  off  my  crown  and  my  dress. 

Throw  the  weight  of  your  wave, 

Cover  me  with  forgetfulness 

And  let  me  sleep  in  my  grave! 

This  is  the  night  the  trees  were  shaken. 
This  is  the  night  of  the  souls  forsaken. 
This  is  the  night  he  shall  not  waken. 

Sea,  sea, 

Quiet  me. 

Cool  of  the  infinite, 

Over  my  forehead  roll ! 

Bury  my  body's  hands  of  white, 

And  the  crimson  hands  of  my  soul! 


[24] 


THE  LAST  HOME 

APART  I  lie,  below  the  pulsing  crowd, 

In  the  last  home  at  last. 
Ah  well,  in  the  old  days  I  have  been  proud  1 

Now  meekness  holds  me  fast. 

I  have  been  friend  to  potency  and  fame. 

Fair  coins   my   face   enring. 
Once  to  my  hearth  a  lordly  praetor  came, 

And  once  an  Orient  king. 

They  left  their  pearls  upon  my  brow  elate, 

Their  opals  on  my  breast. 
But  now  in  my  humility  I  wait 

To  house  a  meaner  guest. 

Then,  little  worm,  come  in,  ere  time  dispraise 

The  perfect  flower  it  bore. 
Ah  yes,  I  have  been  proud  in  the  old  days ! 

But  I  am  proud  no  more. 


[25] 


THE  LAKE  WILL  SING 

How  sweet  within  the  dark  to  lie 
And  listen  on  the  dune 
When  the  lake's  giant  lullaby 
Went  leaping  to  the  moon ! 

The  winter  with  its  icy  rule 
Enchained  it  fast  and  long. 
The  silver  sleep  was  beautiful, 
But  O,  there  was  no  song! 

Now  spring  has  touched  it  to  awake. 
The  sky,  forever  true, 
Is  calling  down  in  blue.     The  lake 
Is  answering  in  blue. 

The  wavelets,  gleaming  choristers, 
Come  rallying  in  white. 
The  bond  is  rent,  the  balm  recurs, 
The  lake  will  sing  to-night ! 


[26] 


THE  DRUDGE 

SOUL,  what  has  her  soul  to  say 
At  the  fall  of  twilight's  umber? 
Solitude  and  workaday 
And  with   all  a  little  slumber. 

In  the  house,  yet  of  it  not, 
Never  an  existence  sharing, 
Given  meekness  for  her  lot, 
Or  a  fee  to  be  forbearing. 

Bounded,  sad  and  growing  old, 
By  dim  walls,  a  tile,  a  rafter, 
Never  to  herself  to  hold 
Any  ray  of  the  moon's  laughter ; 

Never  even  time  to  know 
Comfort   of   the    Scythe,   befriending, 
Calling:     "Dream  and  work  I  mow. 
All  shall  have  a  level  ending, — 

"  Stubble,  stubble, —  weed  and  grain, 
Lily-pride  and  nettle-shadow, 
All  that  ever  shall  remain, 
Of  the  universal  meadow. 

"  What  avails  it  luck  should  cast 
Little  wage  or  wealth  beholden? 
Levelled  stalks  are  all  at  last, 
Martyr  gray,  Bacchante  golden !  " 

r«n 


A  CRY  TO  LANDECK 

0  SISTERS    of   Landeck,    where   flows    the   wild 

river, 

The  turbulent  river  of  sunshine  and  gloam, 
Beseech  our  dear  mother  from  grief  to  deliver 
A  heart  that  is  weary  for  her  and  for  home ! 

1  long  for  my  Tyrol,  the  land  I  love  best, 
And  the  roar  of  the  rapids  to  lull  me  to  rest. 

I  jdream  but  of  Landeck.  And  always  in  dream 
A  crystal  that  shone  through  her  waters  I  clasp. 
It  was  April,  when  flower  and  brake  were 

agleam, 
Before  the  tall  stranger  came  down  from  Ta- 

rasp. 

Now  lost  is  the  light  of  the  crystalline  star. 
Despair  is  beside  me.     My  Tyrol  is  far. 

O  do  you  not  hear  how  I'm  calling  and  calling? 
Beseech  our  dear  mother  take  one  to  her  breast 
Whose  hour  is  past  when  the  mad  tears  were 

falling, 
Whose  eyes  will  not  weep  now,  whose  brain  will 

not  rest. 
My    Tyrol!     My    Tyrol!     It's    there   I    could 

weep, 
With  the  roar  of  the  rapids  to  lull  me  to  sleep. 


[28] 


NUMBERS 

Numbers  are  so  much  the  measure  of  every  thing  that 
is  valuable  that  it  is  not  possible  to  demonstrate  the  suc- 
cess of  any  action  or  the  prudence  of  any  undertaking 
without  them. 

Steele,  Spectator,  No.  174. 

IN  all  they  brood, 

The  inexorable  1 

Out  of  primeval  shadow  have  they  stood 

In  judgment  over  all. 

They  brook  not,  these, 

Earth's  gainsay,  nor  the  sea's, 

Arbiters  of  our  more,  our  less, 

Our  nothingness. 

Apart,  a  few, 

They  merge,  divide, 

Or,  gathering  in  multitudes  anew 

Spread  forth  in  armies  wide. 

Their  ancient  law 

Still  rules  a  world  of  awe, 

Bids  science  halt  or  onward  fare, 

Bids  art  beware. 

Fact's  own  they  are, 

Yet,  counselling  dream, 

Bright  wings  for  thought's  invasion  of 

a  star, 
Fins  for  the  diver's  gleam, 

[29] 


Unerring  eyes 
To  pierce  the  mysteries 
Bedded  within  the  rocky  core 
Of  mountains  hoar. 

With  lamps  upheld, 
Austere  and  strong 

They  wait  behind  the  Muses.     Sun-im- 
pelled 

Apollo  their  fleet  throng 
Never  outruns. 

They    guard   a   million    suns !  — 
Mindful  to  mould  a  sapling's  grace, 
A  lily's  face. 

They  forge  the  curse 

Of  ways  unlit. 

They  are  the  heartbreak  of  the  universe. 

They  are  the  joy  of  it. 

Unseeing  we  pass 

Their  pattern  in  the  grass. 

But  we  are  theirs,  and  they  defy 

Eternity. 


[30] 


THE  PROTEST 

SHE  thought  the  world  was  weary-old. 

She  thought  that  she  was  young. 

The  tale  of  April  was  retold 

On  every  violet's  tongue. 

And  yet,  amid  the  rushing  by, 

The  comrades  she  had  known 

Were  seldom,  and  she  wondered  why, 

Sitting  at  dusk,  alone. 

"  I'm  young !  "  she  said.     "  But  all  is  cold. 
The  world  has  grown  so  weary-old." 

The  children  told  of  bird  and  croft 

More  loudly,  at  her  ear. 

Once  she  had  heard  a  whisper  soft ! 

But  she  could  only  hear 

The  harshness  of  the  effort,  now, 

That  hid  the  love  behind, 

And  went  her  way,  and  wondered  how 

The  world  had  grown  less  kind. 

It  came  to  pass,  it  came  to  pass : 
Ah !     Someone  looked  into  the  glass. 

Her  soul  was  drenched  in  tears  to  trace 
(She  thought  that  she  was  young) 
Her  very  form,  her  very  face, 

[31] 


But  in  a  veil  that  clung, — 
The  filaments  of  time  and  care! 
The  colours,  where  were  they? 
She  saw  dim  eyes  and  faded  hair 
And  freshness  fallen  away. 

"  It  was  not  I !  "  she  said.     "  Alas, 
Who  was  it  looked  into  the  glass  ?  " 


[32] 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  LAKE 

THE  air  was  luminous  and  soft, 
The  fleecy  clouds  were  high  aloft. 

A  score  of  women,  so  they  tell, 
Chatted  and  laughed  before  night  fell. 

Out  in  a  boat  that  grounded  lay 
Louise  had  toiled  the  livelong  day, 

Giving  them  back  no  laugh  again, 
Sewing  the  sails  for  the  fishermen. 

Beside  her  was  her  little  boy, 
Dandling  a  painted  wooden  toy. 

And  all  the  day  as  she  sewed  she  sang  — 
Over  the  pebbles  the  cadence  rang :  — 

Needle  and  pall,  needle  and  pall. 
These  are  the  dream  and  the  end  of  all. 

The  women  felt  the  gathering  gales. 
They     called :     "  Louise !     Come     leave     your 
sails ! 

"  Up  with  your  child,  and  hurry  along ! 
Hark!     Will  you  never  hush  your  song?" 

[33] 


She  heard,  and  called :     "  What  coward  flees 
Before   a  little  summer  breeze?  " 

"  Come  in,  come  in,"  the  women  cried, 

"  O  see  the  clouds  !     How  dark  they  ride  !  " 

"  Then  run,"  she  cried.     "  Who  fears  may  go. 
I've  still  a  long,  long  seam  to  sew !  " 

They  called :     "  Quick,  for  your  child's  sweet 

sake! 
There's  a  new  madness  in  the  lake ! " 

Called  she :     "  Though  demons  dark  the  sun, 
I'll  stay  and  see  my  task  well  done !  " 

The  wind  bore  down  with  mocks  and  moans. 
But  a  voice  rang  clear,  across  the  stones : 

Needle  and  pall,  needle  and  pall. 
And  Caspar  kissed  his  wooden  doll. 

Then  up  there  leaped  the  billows  hoar, 
And  lashed  the  boat  from  the  sandy  shore. 

And  Caspar's  laughter  wildly  broke. 
He  thought  it  was  a  merry  joke, 

As  on  and  on  they  drifted  out, 

Till  rain-sheets  curtained  them  about. 

[34] 


Ah,  none  shall  fair  Louise  forget! 
The  fishers  sought,  are  seeking  yet, 

While  many  a  tale  their  tongues  aver: 
They  say  a  cloud  upgathered  her; 

They  say  the  waters  whelmed  her  down 
Straight  outward  of  her  native  town; 

They  say  that  on  a  shore  afar 

She  sews  her  sails  where  the  dim  folk  are, 

Where  little  Caspar  silently 
Dandles  a  doll  upon  his  knee ; 

They  say  that  sometimes  from  somewhere 
A  song  goes  faintly  on  the  air: 

Needle  and  pall,  needle  and  pall. 

These  are  the  dream  and  the  end  of  all. 


[35] 


ON  THE  JAIL  STEPS 

I'VE  won  the  race. 
Young  man,  I'm  new. 
Old  Sallow-face, 
Good  luck  to  you! 

I've  turned  about, 
And  paid  for  sin. 
And  you  come  out 
As  I  go  in. 

Ten  years !     But  mark, 
I  am  free,  free! 
Ten  years  of  dark 
Shall  gather  me. 

My  wife!     Long-while 
She  wept  her  pain. 
There  is  no  smile. 
She  weeps  again. 

My  little  one 
Shall  know  my  call. 
Child  is  there  none9 
For  sin  grows  tall. 

Now  who  are  you, 
Spar  of  hell's  flood? 
And  who,  and  who, 
But  your  own  blood? 
[36] 


HER  GOING 

THE  WIFE 

CHILD,  why  do  you  linger  beside  her  portal? 
None    shall    hear   you    now    if    you    knock    or 

clamour. 

All  is  dark,  hidden  in  heaviest  leafage. 
None  shall  behold  you. 

TRUTH 

Gone,  alas,  the  dear,  the  beautiful  lady ! 

I,  her  comrade,  tarry  but  to  lament  her. 

Ah,  the  day  she  vanished  did  all  things  lovely 

Share  in  her  fleetness ! 

Tell  me  her  going. 

THE  WIFE 

You  are  a  child.     How  tell  you? 

TRUTH 

Child  I  am,  yet  old  as  the  earliest  sorrow. 
Talk  to  me  as  you  would  to  an  old,  old  woman. 
Mine  are  the  ages. 

THE  WIFE 

Voices,  they  say,  gossiped  around  her  dwelling. 
She  awoke,  departing,  they  say,  in  silence. 
Glad  I  am  she  is  gone.     The  old  hurt  fastens. 
Hate  is  upon  me. 

[37] 


Hard  it  was  to  live  down  the  day,  and  wonder, 
Wonder  why  the  tears  were  forever  welling, 
Wonder  if  on  his  lips  her  kiss  I  tasted, 
Turning  to  claim  him. 

TRUTH 

Jealousy,  mad,  brooding  blind  and  unfettered, 
Takes  its  terrible  leap  over  lie  and  malice. 
Who    shall   question    her   now   in    the   land   of 

shadow  ? 
Who  shall  uphold  her? 

THE  WIFE 

Hard  it  was  to  know  that  peace  had  forsaken 
All  my  house,  to  greet  with  a  dull  endeavour 
Babe  or  book,  so  to  forget  a  moment 
I  was  forgotten. 

TRUTH 

Who  shall  question  her  now  in  the  land  of 
shadow, 

Question  the  mute  pale  lips,  and  the  marble  fin- 
gers, 

Eyelids  fallen  on  eyes  grown  dim  as  the  autumn  ? 

Ah,  the  beloved ! 

THE  WIFE 
Go,  go,  bringer  of  ache  and  discord! 

[38] 


TRUTH 

Go  I  may  not.  Some,  they  think  to  inter  me. 
Out  of  the  mould  and  clay  my  visible  raiment 
Rises  forever. 

THE  WIFE 
Hers    the   sin    that   lured   the   light    from    our 

threshold. 
Hers  the  sin  that  I  lost  his  love  and  grew  bitter. 

TRUTH 
Lost  his  love?     You  never  possessed  it,  woman. 

THE  WIFE 
Sharp  tongue,  have  pity !  .   .  . 

Yes,  I  knew.  But  I  loved  him,  hoping  for  all. 
I  said  in  my  heart :  "  Time  shall  bring  buds 

to  blossom." 

Almost  I  saw  the  flower  of  the  flame  descending. 
Then  —  she  came  toying. 

He  is  mine,  mine,  by  the  laws  of  the  ages ! 
Mine,  mine,  mine,  yes,  body  and  spirit! 
Glad  I  am  she  has  gone  her  way  to  the  shadow. 
Hate  is  upon  me. 

O,  the  bar  over  which  my  soul  would  see 
All  that  eludes  my  soul,  while  he  remembers! 
You,  dispel  if  you  can  my  avenging  passion, — 
Clouds  are  before  me ! 

[39] 


A  PEASANT  OF  ASSISI 

THE  sun  that  traced  of  old  the  Umbrian  Friars 

Hung  saffron  in  the  mist  of  eventide. 

The  Angelus  from  a  far  tower  had  told 

Its  rosary  of  sounds  and  silences. 

I  wandered  where  the  purple  winding  valley, 

Steeped  in  a  bloom  of  seven  hundred  years, 

Still  breathes  so  gently  of  Assisi's  power 

That  I,  to-day's  deserter,  went  half  watchful 

At  any  little  turning  of  a  hill 

To  come  upon  the  hooded  Saint  himself 

In  some  sweet  colloquy  with  bird  or  beast. 

O  purple  winding  valley,  saffron  sun 

And  silver  thoughts !     And  now,  at  the  path's 

edge, 

Outgleaming  from  a  shadow,  rose  a  shrine, 
Beneath  whose  ancient  ark  a  streamlet  ran 
Along  a  dip  of  moss-enamelled  stones. 
Within  a  field  a  tawny  peasant  youth 
Stood  leaning  on  his  hoe,  content  from  toil. 
And  at  my  beck  he  dropped  his  hoe  and  has- 
tened. 

And,  as  I  questioned  of  the  place,  his  eyes 
Grew  soft,  his  answer  coming  clear,  and  eager 
With  repetition  of  the  names  he  loved. 

THE  LEGEND 

Lady,  hither  to  this  nook  one  noonday 
Blessed  Francis  walked  with  Brother  Leo. 
[40] 


All  the  sky  was  fire  that  scorched  the  flowers. 
Brother  Leo  lagged  behind,  entreating: 
"  O  I  am  forspent !     O  find  me  water ! 
Verily  my  thirst  has  overtried  me  f " 
But  the  land  was  parched  and  stream-forsaken, 
And  upon  the  ground  the  weary-hearted 
Sank,  and  soon  a  slumber  overcame  him. 
Blessed  Francis,  kneeling  in  the  grasses, 
Prayed  a  silent  prayer  for  water,  water, — 
Crystal  water,  silver,  laughing  water, 
Water  that  should  be  to  faith  a  signal. 
And  at  last  the  weary  Brother  wakened, 
And  they  rose  together,  looking  downward. 
At  their  feet  amid  the  stones  upwelling 
Crystal  water  bubbled,  laughed  and  sparkled. 
And  the  freshness  to  their  lips  they  gathered. 
And  they  went  their  way  with  praising  pulses. 

Here  the  shrine  was  set  to  mark  the  story. 
Honoured  is  my  simple  tongue  to  tell  it. 
All  is  true.     For,  lady,  look:     The  Water! 


[41] 


FOREST  FIRES 

0  mother,  I  cannot  sleep  to-night, 
For  the  air  blows  thick  from  the  dune. 
And  through  my  window  a  glaring  fright 
Peeps   the  blood-red  face   of  the  moon! 

Far  from  our  village,  little  lad, 
The  forest  fires  are  raging. 
The  fire-king  hastens  hard  and  mad, 
His  furious  battle  waging. 

His  doomful  breath  has  every  town, 
As  through  the  distant  mazes 
Of  woodland  green  he  rushes  down, 
And  scorches  black  the  daisies. 

He  gathers  little  homes  and  mills. 

He  beats  apart  the  bridges, 

And  leaps  the  streams  and  climbs  the  hills 

And   flames   the   mountain- ridges. 

Tall  in  the  land  sweet  hosts  of  pines 
Are  flanking  close  to  daunt  him. 
But  he  shall  mow  their  million  lines, 
And   onward   still   shall  vaunt  him. 

All  beauty  smites  he  with  his  hand, 
Himself  its  last  beholder. 
Twice  twenty  miles  of  timberland 
Upon  his  pathway  smoulder. 
[42] 


Look,  mother,  the  world  seems  thirsting  so! 
The  day  and  the  night  are  one. 
And  over  the  gables  leaning  low 
The  moon  is  as  red  as  the  sun! 

But  ril  draw  together  my  curtains  dark, 
And  back  in  my  bed  again 
Pll  pray  me  asleep,  or,  waking,  hark 
For  the  sound  of  the  conquering  rain. 


[43] 


THE  OLD  IROQUOIS 

(Now  the  Colonial  Theatre) 

BY  a  new  name  they  call  the  house  to-day. 
The  balconies  of  blood  are  gilded  o'er. 
Tardy  Precaution  writes  upon  the  curtain 
And  lights  a  beacon-lamp  at  every  door. 

Where    are    we?     Who    has    told    us    all    these 

things 

Dreaming  within  us,  till  we  know  and  see? 
This  is  the  Iroquois,  the  house  of  death. 
.Here  echoed  one  united  agony, 
Muted  how  suddenly  in  char  and  ember, 
Here,  in  this  very  place.     The  walls  remember. 

And  bright  the  revel,  now,  and  loud  the  laugh- 
ter. 

But  what  is  yonder  swaying,  faltering  host? 
Shall  this  gay  vault  give  mirth  alone  hereafter? 
No!  —  Hark,  the  sobbing  of  a  little  ghost! 

House  evermore  to  darken  thought  of  man, 
Let  some  stern  Azrael  above  your  portal 
Attest  the  sacrifice !     Through  all  your  aisles 
Let   stanzas   ring,   bom   sounding  and   immor- 
tal !- 

Ah,  not  the  strident  slang,  the  castanets ! 
Ah,  not  the  long  cheap  laughter  that  forgets ! 

[44] 


DICKENS 

A  TRIBUTE 

WHO  is  the  little  quiet  London  drudge 
Plodding  at  eve  through  mist  and  misery, 
Warming   his   heart   at   the   world's   flickering 

fire? 

Who  is  the  young  recording  wanderer, 
Threading,  at  some  rare  hour  of  liberty, 
The  dim  and  narrow  windings  of  the  town, 
Where  men  and  women  pass  and  go  their  ways, 
Unconscious  pictures  of  an  art  to  be, 
And  heeding  not  the  ever  heedful  boy? 

It  is  one  living  in  our  midst  to-day, 

If  heaven  accord  us  worthiness  to  know 

The  radiant  spirit  shining  at  our  threshold, 

Spirit  immortal,  childlike,  of  a  man 

Who   won  the   world   with  laughter   and  with 

tears, 

Whose  pen,  a  sounding  arrow,  pierced  the  core 
Of  evil  and  awoke  a  race  from  slumber 
To  look  with  seeing  eyes  upon  oppression. 

Strong  to  draw  healing  from  the  haunts  of  pain, 
Out  of  the  festering  dark  of  circumstance 
He  freed  the  little  unextinguished  lights. 
Brave  to  find  beauty's  form  in  all,  he  spied 
The  blade  of  grass  between  the  grimy  cobbles. 

[45] 


His  home  the  crowded  street,  the  intricate  by- 
way, 

Where  he  might  lose  or  gain  his  fancy's  crea- 
tures, 

His  soul  went  forth,  and,  filled  with  plot  and 
plan 

And  weft  of  dreams  that  waited  to  be  woven, 

Sought  life's  enigma,  knew  the  subtle  charm 

That  lingers  in  a  melancholy  stair 

Forgotten  feet  have  pressed,  a  moldering  wall, 

A  window  touched  by  myriad  unseen  hands. 

Humanity  was  knocking  at  his  heart. 

He  flung  it  wide  and  showed  the  waiting  store: 

A  brook  for  sorrow's  thirst,  a  loaf  for  hunger, 

A  flowering  staff  for  honour's  deep  emprise. 

Attuning  every  note  to  life's  one  music, 

Whether  a  tremulous  delight,  or  sound 

Of  minted  coin  that  falls  upon  the  granite, 

He  wrought  in  kingly  power  to  achieve 

Triumph  of  mercy  and  defeat  of  malice. 

Dear  master,  still  he  lives,  who  laid  his  hand 

With  such  a  tenderness  upon  his  time, 

He  lives,  with  kindly  ridicule  and  love 

To  fight  the  buzzing  fads  of  this  our  day 

And  feed  the  sacred  amphora  of  truth ! 

The    pageant    moves.     The    pictures    are    un- 

blurred. 

How  in  a  chain  of  changes  they  survive !  — 
[46] 


For,  while  humanity  endures,  the  past 
Confronts  us  with  the  types  of  what  we  are. 
The  pageant  moves.     We  watch  the  forms  go 

by, 

And    know    them    every    one,    the    bright,    the 

weary, 
Sun  in  the  shadow,  shadow  in  the  sun. 

Ah !  well  are  we  whom  solitude  may  bring 
To  dwell  within  the  living  page,  or  we 
Who  in  the  throb  of  some  vast  audience 
Are  gathered  to  the  glowing  heart  of  genius, 
Genius  whose  wide  hope  led  to  heights  afar, 
Whereof  the  song  of  fame  was  not  life's  all, 
Nor  death  but  the  applause  that  cuts  a  cadence. 


[47] 


WAGNER 

IN  dull  content 

The  pallid  lords  in  pallid  houses  pent 

Heard  not,  for  they  were  deaf,  nor  felt  the  sun, 

Doors  being  none  and  windows  being  none, 

While  he  the  edge  of  sham  and  envy  braved, 

To  rescue  art  from  idols  that  enslaved. 

And  through  the  dim 

Came  barges  floating  oh  the  air  to  him. 

In  trailing  robes,  with  jewelled  glint  and  gleam, 

One  after  one  the  Northland  guests  of  dream 

Set  foot  upon  the  stairway  of  his  soul, 

Bearing  the  lamp,  the  cup,  the  runic  scroll. 

Time's  brooding  nurse, 

He  caught  the  clamour  of  the  universe, 

The  flower  of  life's  inmost  thought  and  plan, 

The  love  of  woman,  and  the  caravan 

Of  things  forever  sought  and  never  found, 

Till  all  the  myth  of  man  awoke  in  sound. 

High  o'er  the  rills 

Flashes  his  temple  from  Bavarian  hills. 
Green  of  the  staff,  gold  of  the  fiery  song, — 
Deep  was  the  darkness,  deep  and  over  long. 
But  certain  was  the  light.     How  could  he  fail, 
Who  held  within  his  hand  the  holy  grail? 

[48] 


TO  A  POET 

HE  who  leaves  a  glimmer  of  his  soul 
In  a  bit  of  marble,  in  a  song, 
He  shall  win  the  unseen  aureole 
Set  above  the  stars  the  ages  long, 
And  the  fleeting  import  of  his  days 
Echoes  of  eternity  shall  praise. 

We  of  earth  your  mastery  would  hail, 
Iron  hand  that  shook  the  gates  of  art, 
Crumpled  rock  to  ridge's  flowering  trail, 
Yours,  O  feet  that,  following  no  chart, 
Found  a  future,  or  in  spaces  free 
Walked  the  winding  floor  of  some  old  sea. 

Poet  of  life's  ordinances  deep, — 

Cities  lying  restless  in  the  night,- 

Tossed  and  racked  before  they  fall  asleep, — 

Meadow-streams  in  peace  of  pale  moonlight, 

We,  the  tossing  city,  we,  the  stream, 

Share  your  noble  heritage  of  dream. 


[49] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  A  CHILD 

WHEN  the  morning  broke 
Once  the  Child  awoke, 
For  the  sun  was  on  His  breast  — 
Such  a  little  breast  to  hold 
Heaven's  kingdom  !     In  His  nest 
Lay  His  treasures  manifold: 
Rubies,  miniver, 
Frankincense  and  myrrh, 
And  an  ocean's  burnished  shell. 
And  His  mother  smiled  to  see 
All  prophetic   Israel 
Mirrored   in   His   royalty. 

Warm,  in  winter  wild 
Slumbered  once  the  Child. 
And  His  dream,  surpassing  all, 
Measured  not  of  any  time, 
Was  of  roses  mystical, 
And  of  lilies  blown  sublime, 

Roses  rising  fair! 

Lilies  white  as  prayer! 
Ah!     Humanity  well  knows 
Of  the  garden  and  the  gleam, 
And  its  consolation  grows 
From  the  fragrance  of  the  dream. 

So  a  Little  Boy 
By  His  gift  and  toy 
[50] 


Woke  and  slept  and  woke  again, 
As  our  children  sleep  and  wake, 
And,  without  the  manger,  men 
Passed  with   sorrow  and  heartbreak, 

Weary,  sad  of  brow, 

Even  then,  as  now. 
Now,  as  then,  repose  is  bought 
On  a  clamorous  highway. 
Everywhere  some  Herod  thought 
Seeks  an  infant  truth  to  slay. 

Still  at  the  soul's  gate 

Thirst  and  hunger  wait. 

Christmas  dawn  shall  stay  our  tears! 

Still  a  host  of  sorrows  mass 

At  our  doors.     And  through  the  years 

How  they  pass,  and  knock,  and  pass ! 

Near  the  Child  that  day 

Something  unseen  lay, 
Christmas    dawn   remembereth! 
'Twas  a  crown  of  thorns  foretold, 
By  the  dews  of  pain  and  death 
Changed  into  a  crown  of  gold. 

Soul,  your  blossoms  bring! 
Deck  you  for  the  King! 
Sea  and  mountain,  leap  elate, 
Knowing,  symbols  from  afar, 
One  was  born  to  conquer  fate, 
Born  beneath  an  Eastern  star. 
[51] 


And  His  realm  is  love, 
And  His  lamp  a  dove. 

War,  let  arrows  rest  imfiled ! 

Peace,  let  pennons  be  unfurled! 

For  the  Spirit  of  a  Child 

Is  the  wonder  of  the  world. 


[52] 


CHRISTMAS  VOICES 

THE  daylight  was  a  frozen  thing. 

The  way  was  long. 
A  little  child  came  carolling 

A  Christmas  song. 

"  Child,  sing  no  more  of  byre  and  cot," 

The  woman  said. 
"  Your  song  is   old.     The  world  needs   not 

A  story  dead. 

"  I  seek  new  countries,  leagues  away. 

Now  sing  of  them. 
The  roads  are  leading  far  to-day 

From  Bethlehem." 

No  carol  stirred.     The  child  had  passed. 

She  hurried  on. 
Her  step  was  weary  at  the  last, 

With  daylight  gone. 

Then  down  the  dark  and  through  the  cold 

A  radiance  sprang. 
She  heard  another  voice.     Behold, 

An  angel  sang: 

"  O  woman,  you  must  falter  much, 

And  travel  far, 
To  free  your  spirit  from  the  touch 

Of  wing  and  star !  " 

[53] 


CLOUD  AND  FLOWER 

I  SAW  the  giant  stalking  to  the  sky, 

The  giant  cloud  above  the  wilderness, 

Bearing  a  mystery  too  far,  too  high, 

For  my  poor  guess. 

Away  I  turned  me,  sighing :     "  I  must  seek 

In  lowlier  places  for  the  wonder-word. 

Something  more  little,  intimate,  shall  speak." 

A  bright  rose  stirred. 

And  long  I  looked  into  its  face,  to  see 

At  last  some  hidden  import  of  the  hour. 

And  I  had  thought  to  turn  from  mystery  — 
But  O,  flower !  flower  1 


[54] 


THE  SECRET 

WILD  sea,  forever  far  your  secret  slips  1 
I  asked  the  rocks  your  story  to  rehearse, 
The  rocks,  that  chronicle  the  universe, 
To  tell  me  of  the  hidden  power  that  whips 
Your  vortices,  and  dooms  the  iron  ships. 
But  still  your  baffling  mystery  they  nurse, 
For  you  were  swift  their  silence  to  coerce 
With  a  great  wave  that  covered  up  their  lips. 

And  still  I  marvel  at  your  mastery. 

What  is  the  end  to  which  your  moaning  makes  ? 

What  are  the  ages  slow  to  change  apart? 

Or  are  you  helpless,  ignorant  as  I, 

A  little  lonely  child,  who  dreams  and  wakes 

And  hears  the  lonely  beat  of  your  loud  heart? 


[55] 


TO  A  GARRULOUS  FRIEND 

Do  not  answer  every  lure. 
Learn  of  one  forever  sure, 
Winning  through  the  sun  or  fog, 
Time,  the  hoary  pedagogue, 

Time  eternally  discreet, 
Watchful  of  the  moments  fleet. 
For  the  long  years  teach  us  well 
What  to  hide  and  what  to  tell. 

Lavish  words  upon  a  day 
Fed  your  inmost  soul  away. 
It  wras  broken  for  a  feast. 
It  was  measured  to  the  beast. 

Guard  you  from  the  over- glow. 
Be  contented  to  forego. 
Leave  the  sound  to  him  who  strays, 
Too  enamoured  of  the  phrase. 

Wistful  of  the  silent  word 
In   a   thought  unguessed,  unheard, 
Greet  the  world  in  strength  sublime 
And  the  reticence  of  Time. 


[56] 


A  SONG  OF  TIME 

WOMAN,  why  are  your  eyes  so  wide, 
Gazing  far  where  the  dunes  divide? 
Because  to-morrow  is  not  to-day, 
And  the  Icing  rideth  away. 

Woman,  where  is  the  bloom  you  bore? 
Caught  in  hand  as  he  passed  my  door. 
And  my  work  and  I  are  growing  gray, 
And  the  king  rideth  away. 

For  he  is  king  of  the  dune  and  lea, 
And  he  never  will  stop  to  hearten  me. 
The  dust  rolls  high,  and  the  clouds  roll  gray, 
And  the  king  rideth  away. 


[57] 


TWO  HOUSES 

HOUSE  of  the  past,  house  of  the  sunken  stair, 
In  somnolence  of  long  untrodden  grass ! 
Tragedy,  pleasure,  sin  have  crossed  your  door. 
Your  crumbling  gables  are  no  longer  fair, 
And  all  the  sigh  of  all  the  heaven  may  pass 
Along  your  desert  floor. 

And  you,  the  newly-builded,  firmly  set, 
Wide-hailed,    with   gleaming   porch    and    peri- 
style, 

And  windows  clear  to  catch  the  sunlight's  dole! 
What  shall  you  say,  O  house  of  no  regret, 
Proud  in  your  vigour,  but,  alas  the  while, 
Still  waiting  for  your  soul! 


T581 


THE  LOST  RITUAL 

BEAUTY  still  wings  from  a  star. 
Art  struggles  on  through  the  cost. 
Ah,  but  the  form  is  afar, 
And  the  line's  ritual  is  lost  I 

Haply  when  havoc  shall  cease, 
And  the  long  void  of  the  day, 
We  shall  go  back  unto  Greece, 
Raise  up  a  statue,  and  pray. 


[59] 


LOVE'S  VOICE 

"  DREAMER  !  "  we  cry  to  Love,  who  Love  forego, 
Who  walk  our  ways,  nor  catch  an  infinite  gleam, 
Nor  hear  a  voice  through  darkness  calling: 

"No, 
Not  I  the  dreamer !     Yours  the  empty  dream  !  " 


[60] 


RADIUM 

A  FATEFUL  youngling  of  the  dark  and  drift, 
Unconscious  of  its  goal, 
But  giving,  giving,  eager  with  the  gift, 
Exhaustless  as  the  soul. 


[61] 


RESEARCH 

ALONE,  afar  from  mortal  loves  and  hates, 
Pre-dating  creed  and  church, 
Stands  Truth,  the  secret  marble  that  awaits 
The  chiselling  hand,  Research. 


[62] 


VICTOR >i,j:>  vK:''.! 

I  PASSED  her  bed  of  cyclamen, 
And  swifter  hurried,  passing  it. 
I  could  not  say  God  bless  her,  then, 
Lest  God  should  guess  me  hypocrite. 

God  bless  her!     I  have  said  the  thought. 
The  fragrant  crown  is  on  her  head. 
The  golden  steeple-bells  have  wrought 
Their  gladdest.     She  is  gone  to  wed. 


*  Copyright  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  1904. 

[63] 


.A  SONG 

LOVE  glided  room  to  room, 
Wistful  with  flower  and  flame. 

And  the  dial  forgot 

In  a  tangle  of  bloom. 
But  we  never  knew  his  name. 

Love  poured  us  music's  vow 
More  sweet  than  viola's. 

But  we  cherished  him  not 

As  we  cherish  him  now, 
When  we  know  what  his  dear  name  was. 


[64] 


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